


Blood Wine

by MsThunderFrost



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Dionysus (Hades Video Game), Felching, Hair-pulling, Half-Sibling Incest, Little Prep, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Top Ares (Hades Video Game), wine as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: For the prompt:The God of War and the God of Wine indulge together. Ares eats Dionysus out and nearly gets his skull crushed by those thicc thighs. As punishment for Dionysus getting a little overzealous in the heat of the moment, Ares binds him (however the filler prefers) and fucks the living hell out of him.
Relationships: Ares/Dionysus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 207
Collections: Hades Kink Meme





	Blood Wine

**Author's Note:**

> My first fill for the Hades Kink Meme <3 And definitely not the last! There are a number of amazing prompts over there, as well as some excellent fills. If that is the sort of thing that interests you, you should definitely check it out!

It is always a thrill, to test the limits of Dionysus’ self-control—if only because the god of wine seems to have so very little of it.

He _is_ a god of indulgence, after all.

And Ares… oh, Ares can occasionally be _tempted_ to lay down his arms and _indulge_.

Dionysus’ body is an absolute masterwork—which is _odd_ , considering that his hedonistic brother is wont to do much more than laze about Olympus with his overflowing cup, fading in and out of a state of near-perpetual intoxication… Not that he is _at all_ jealous that the god of wine is more powerfully sculpted than he, the god of _war_. No, that would be ludicrous. It is not so much about the size as what you _do_ with it, after all. And Ares has strength enough to _do_ Dionysus in the most glorious of ways—

This is, admittedly, not the most _private_ place that they could have chosen for their little tryst. But then, Dionysus truly hadn’t left him much choice when he’d spread those massive thighs and dripped some of his beloved wine between his legs—Ares’ blood-red eyes had followed the sweet liquid as it carved a path along magnificently sculpted mocha skin, to disappear beneath the hem of Dionysus’ short, _short_ chiton—and really, at that point, would it not have been a slight to Dionysus to let even a _drop_ of the wine go to waste?

Ares thought so, too.

“I-I don’t think any of the wine got t- _there_ —!” Dionysus’ body seems to _convulse_ as Ares’ sinful tongue teases at the tight little furl between his cheeks. He is indeed right—but it never hurts to be _thorough_.

Ares’ fingers sink into the supple flesh of Dionysus’ ass, an amused chuckle bubbling up from deep within his chest, “Come now, Dionysus. Don’t tell me that you’re already this worked up from a little light petting—,”

“L-Light… petting?” Ares can feel the muscles in Dionysus’ thighs _jumping_ as he teases his entrance. He works his tongue in slow, lazy circles along the tight little ring of muscle, excess saliva dripping from the tip of his tongue to make a proper mess between Dionysus’ cheeks.

“Mmm… don’t tell me that you were expecting _this_ to be the main attraction.” He teases, “Although… I must admit, the thought of you falling apart on my tongue is not… _unappealing_. What say you, brother? Would you like me to bring you to your peak with my tongue, and claim you while your body is still wracked with the aftershocks of your climax?”

Dionysus throws an arm over his eyes, “It should be a c-crime, to say such things with a voice such as yours—,”

Ares licks his lips, “That’s not a _no_.”

Dionysus opens his mouth, perhaps to confirm that that was, in fact, not a ‘no’—but whatever it was that he was about to say is lost to a broken gasp as Ares’ tongue sinks inside of him with the slow, methodical purpose of one who _knows_ that they are driving their partner to the brink of insanity and is loving every moment of it. Ares’ hands slide upward to curl around Dionysus’ hips, applying just enough pressure to keep the other god from bucking up off of the chaise.

Dionysus’ thighs are heavy on his shoulders. He can feel the way that the muscles twitch each time that his tongue probes something particularly sensitive, can feel the way that his legs are inching ever-closer to his head. He’s not particularly worried. It’s _fun_ , to press at the bounds of Dionysus’ self-control, to watch it slowly unravel as he makes him sloppy and loose with his tongue. The god of wine seems to have less and less of it each time that they indulge in this way—he wonders if there will ever come a day when just his voice, and perhaps a handful of well-timed strokes of his hand, will be enough to make the other god weep with pleasure.

Oh, but the possibilities are absolutely _titillating._

Ares shifts ever so slightly, pressing Dionysus’ legs back toward his belly, baring even more of his intimacies to the god of war’s hungering eyes. Dionysus’ breath hitches, his fingers curling into Ares’ short, silver hair—his short, blunt nails scrape across Ares’ scalp, causing white-hot pinpricks of pleasure-pain to assail him. He sinks his teeth into Dionysus’ tender little furl, nibbling on the sensitive skin just to feel the way that Dionysus rocks his hips back against his face as he screams his name. He doesn’t understand how the mortals do it, being bound by such pesky things as _breathing_. He wouldn’t miss a _minute_ of this for something so mundane—

“G- _Gods_!” He does, however, very much need for his head to remain attached to his shoulders. And would very much prefer if Dionysus did _not_ crush it like a grape whilst in the throws of ecstasy.

“Tch. Now, Dionysus… we’ve _talked_ about this.” Ares withdraws his tongue, but not before noting that Dionysus has made a proper mess of his chiton (and the chaise—it would seem that his dear brother was a bit _sloppy_ with his wine). He cracks his neck, his bronze skin flushed a rich, golden color where Dionysus’ thighs had gripped him, “What happens when you lose control?”

Dionysus shudders, “Y-You take it.”

“What was that, brother? I’m afraid that I didn’t hear you…” a length of blood-red, silk rope materializes in his hands.

“You…” Dionysus’ dark eyes focus in on the rope, his tongue flitting out to wet his dry lips. “You take control, Ares.”

“Yes… I do.” Ares circles the chaise once, considering. Then, leaning over the back of the chair, he brushes Dionysus’ purple hair away from his ear and whispers, “What should we do about those wayward legs of yours, hmm?”

It’s difficult for him to decide how he wants to tie Dionysus. While it is true that many of his favored positions greatly hinder mobility, he is in need of something that will specifically prevent Dionysus from being able to close his legs. Or… his eyes flash as a delightfully _sinful_ thought occurs to him. He does not necessarily need to prevent Dionysus from being able to _close_ his legs, when the whole troublesome business could be avoided if he were unable to _open_ his legs in the first place.

He settles on a modification of the Beetle Balltie, winding the silk rope around Dionysus bulging muscles—it truly is a shame that his brother doesn’t wear more red, as the color most definitely suits his complexion. Why, it even compliments the peculiar color of his hair. He takes his time, carefully maneuvering Dionysus’ body into the appropriate position, ensuring that the rope is tight—but not _too_ tight (not that a bit of rope could ever actually hurt a god—but Ares happens to _like_ their little arrangement (not that he would ever admit to as much out loud), and he is wont to jeopardize it through a bit of carelessness. When he is finished, he rolls Dionysus over onto his side—

“Yes…” he runs a large, calloused hand over the swell of Dionysus’ bare bottom, pulling his cheeks apart just far enough to catch a glimpse of his twitching hole. “Yes, I do believe that this will do nicely…”

Ares reaches for one of Dionysus’ many bottles of wine, and removes the cork stopper with his teeth. His blood-red eyes follow the flow of the purple liquid as it trickles from the bottle to splash between Dionysus’ cheeks, mixing with Ares’ spittle to slick the path for Ares’ cock. Once he’s determined that Dionysus is at least somewhat prepared, he removes his armored skirt and presses the tip of his cock up against his entrance. Dionysus shivers, letting out a positively _desperate_ keen as Ares’ sinks into him, allowing him no time to adjust to the stretch of his cock in his underprepped hole…

Dionysus is _drooling_ , his eyes rolling back into his head as he utilizes what little mobility he has to rock back against Ares’ thick heat. He’s still strung-out from his first orgasm, but his cock is making a valiant effort to return to full hardness. The near-constant friction from his legs and stomach is certainly helping things along, but…

Well, nobody ever claimed that Ares was a particularly _patient_ god.

Curling his fingers in the ropes, Ares utilizes them for additional leverage to fuck into Dionysus all the faster. The larger god is an actual _mess_ beneath him, a string of sounds that could have been his name falling over his dark, swollen lips. The chaise creaks dangerously beneath their combined weight (how ironic that would be—for furniture designed by the gods, _for_ the gods, to _snap_ like a twig in the midst of some… _enthusiastic_ fucking). Dionysus is like a fucking _sheath_ , always so very _tight_ no matter how many times they do this. Ares feels like he’s _melting_ —Dionysus’ blessed heat threatening to swallow him whole.

“A- _Ares_!” Ares practically _purrs_. He wants Dionysus to say his name again—over and over, till it’s the only word his lips will form. He tangles his fingers in Dionysus’ wild purple curls and _tugs_ , “Ares… oh _Gods_ , yes!”

“Say it again, brother—,” Dionysus’ deliciously _plump_ ass is flushed golden where Ares’ hips collide with it, over and over. The soft, silken ropes grow dark near the god of wine’s cock—to the point where they are almost black—as his cock begins to _weep_ from the pleasure of Ares’ manhandling, “ _Say my name_.”

“Ares!” Dionysus does not hesitate to obey, “Ares, _please_ …”

He watches as those muscular thighs twitch, his lips curling upward in amusement. It never takes much to get Dionysus going, does it? “Not yet.” He lands an open-palmed swat on Dionysus’ left cheek, just to watch the other squirm.

He can feel the familiar warmth of his impending orgasm building in the pit of his stomach. He chases the pleasure, his thrusts growing faster—sharper. Dionysus won’t be able to sit properly for the rest of the day (he snickers, thinking of how odd he will look to their hell-born kin, uncomfortably shifting upon that gilded seat of his as he attempts to offer him a boon). With a grunt, he buries himself to the hilt inside of the god of wine and _spills_. A soft, breathy moan escapes Dionysus’ throat as he is filled—his dark eyes fluttering when, at long last, Ares’ releases his grip on his hair—the non-verbal cue that he can, at long last, _let go_.

Ares pulls out a moment later, his seed oozing from Dionysus’ slightly gaping hole. “Fuck…” the god of wine chuckles, looking thoroughly exhausted (and undeniably pleased). Ares certainly fucks like he fights—without a shred of mercy.

Ares’ licks his lips, before sinking to his knees behind Dionysus again. His blood-red eyes flitting up to study Dionysus’ reaction… he darts his tongue out to taste where his seed had mixed with the wine he’d spilled earlier. Dionysus lets out a full-bodied shudder, looking unsure whether he wants to press back into the sensation or skirt away from oversensitivity.

The god of war chuckles, “Did you really think I was done with you _already_ , dear brother? After all, it’s not often that I have such an… _opportunity_ to indulge…”

…and he intends to take _full_ advantage of it.


End file.
